


Nestling

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode: s05e22 The Gift, Found Families, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike had recreated the nest as best he could, piling blankets onto the living room floor and curling around Dawn's body in a parody of sharing warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nestling

Rain drummed its beat on the roof, a soft rushing sound of gutters filling and channeling toward a thicker, heavier rhythm of water splattering onto concrete. In the crypt, lying on the dirty floor with only the sound of Dawn's breathing to compete with the noise it had sounded like being in the middle of the percussion section. Drums picking their different, arhythmic beats, swirling around them until it finally—suddenly?—found harmony. Purpose. Something that made it pure, as only nature could truly be.

It was different at home. Spike had recreated the nest as best he could, piling blankets onto the living room floor and curling around Dawn's body in a parody of sharing warmth. Well, there was sharing going on. Just wasn't him that shared.

The rain sounded different here, muffled and set to a remove before it crashed out, louder and more solid as the drain-pipes spewed forth their bounty. The sound of it made Spike feel off, for some reason. As if the man made interference with nature's patterns turned the whole thing wrong. A strange feeling, given a crypt wasn't exactly natural, nor the living dead body in it, but Spike couldn't shake the disquiet. Something was _off_.

Hell. It was probably just Harris' almost-snores.

While it wasn't usual for him and Dawn to tumble together like overgrown puppies—not _that_ kind of tumble, as he'd told Willow acidly whenever her mouth got prim and her eyes icy—it was unusual for them to do it in the Summers' home. That place was reserved for the kind of propriety befitting a young girl lost in mourning and her guardian, or for hiding up in her room and touching the way they wished behind a door not near thick enough for protection. 

Spike knew what the furor was about, of course. His hands had touched breasts and thighs, the hidden dip at the small of her back and the soft swell of her lower lip, right where the skin cracked from too many tears and not enough lip gloss. The others worried about what it Meant to Dawn—and to him, Tara had told him just a few days before. She'd worried that he was pouring too much of himself into Dawn, that the innate sensuousness of the touches would communicate something she knew Spike didn't mean. Something Dawn might want herself.

The thought of that terrified him. He loved Dawn, worshiped her with a fervor that made his devotion to Dru seem fleeting. Dawn was his life and yeah, it wasn't like he hadn't harbored a fantasy or three. Or even more. He _was_ a sexual creature and having a sweet-smelling, beautiful, needy girl pressed up against him, letting him touch her any way he wished... it did things to a man.

But he didn't want it. Not really. Not at that time, most importantly, and possibly not ever.

She'd become a talisman over the past year. At first she was just a way to Buffy—prove that he was man enough to protect little sis from all manner of beasties that she couldn't always be there to stop. But it hadn't stayed that way for long. Dawn had that combination of brazen, jaded toughness overlaying innocent sweetness her sister had had and it drew him as quickly as Buffy's had. She was a good kid in the truest sense of the word. And Spike had sworn not just to protect her until the end of the world—but to keep her sane through it. To keep her sweet and tough and innocent enough to lay in his arms, trusting of the creature that should've ravaged her bloody and instead was sick at the very thought of it.

"You know, it's still creepy."

Spike started, instantly stilling his body so not to jerk Dawn out of sleep. Turning only his head, Spike looked at Xander, lounged comfortably on Dawn's other side and eyes still shut, Spike raised an eyebrow. And then cursed himself silently, since Xander's _eyes were still closed._

"And that, my friend, is even creepier. You're giving me Question Face. I can feel it, with the little Spock maneuver and the expression like you aren't sure you want to know what I'm talking about. And all this with my eyes closed. Hey, you think I'm developing telepathy? Or, um. What'd Willow call it. Analog. Anagogey. Ana-something."

Spike hadn't objected when Dawn asked to move their mid-afternoon naps to the Summers' house. It'd been raining three days straight and the crypt wasn't exactly the driest it'd ever been. He hadn't objected, either, when they arrived, damp and laughing, to find Xander spreading out a blanket in the middle of the living room, the sofa pushed back for more room. It wasn't like he couldn't share Dawn; he knew he had to, no choice about that. But he hadn't expected it to be so... easy. With Tara, sure, she was a sweet bit who understood that right now Dawn wasn't going to conform to anyone's notion of mourning and needing but her own. That it happened to be Spike actually reassured the gentle woman, who recognized better than Spike did—and had pointed this out to Spike's discomfort—that Dawn was safest and happiest and _sanest_ with him. That'd come in handy when Giles had his little blow up, too.

But for Xander to just curl up on her other side, as simple and easy as breathing, content to listen to the two of them chat without interrupting or asking to turn on the telly—Spike hadn't objected to that, most of all. Having Xander's lanky body made the nest even warmer, the disjointed sound of two people breathing oddly comforting.

It had surprised him, though. Shocked the hell out of him, really.

"Anagogic," Spike said. "Means picking up on people's emotions, plus a bit of foretelling. At least, that's what it means if you're a flaming bloke all over in green that calls to let you know that Angel's hot-footed it to parts unknown and would I mind singing a bit over the phone, just for posterity's sake? Anyway, you aren't anagogic. And what's still creepy?"

Xander's laughter was wheezed out, a barest hint of sound making Dawn curl up more tightly against him, breath gentle against his chest. Spike cuddled her, watching as Xander opened his eyes and shifted so he was lying on his side head propped up with a fisted hand, studying them.

"Where, oh, where do I start?" Xander asked, eyes sparkling in the hazy light.

Hard not to smile when the corners of Xander's mouth were turned up, creating just the barest hints of furrows in shadowed skin. "Flaming green poufter of a bloke?" he suggested.

"Oh, you mean Lorin. Or Lorn, rhymes with ‘worn'. Or something with ‘deathwok' in his name which Willow assures me does not mean he's going to go mad and kill everyone. Yeah, she's mentioned him a few times. He's not actually creepy. _Freaky_ , with a capital Gay, but since she claims he's harmless and, I quote, ‘kinda cute and really very sweet', he doesn't count for the creepy category."

Spike wondered vaguely why he wasn't glaring at Xander for interrupting the time he usually used to contemplate Dawn and maybe, very briefly, other things he rarely put a name to. Instead his grin grew a little wider since kinda cute and very sweet was Spike impression of Angel's newest lackey. "His skin is _green._ "

Xander raised both eyebrows—poor boy couldn't do only the one—and stared. "He called you to talk about _Angel_ ," he said, mimicking Spike's tone perfectly.

Oh. Right. That was a bit on the creepy side. Not that he'd called to let them know that Angel'd skipped out as was his modus fucking operandi and to ask that the Scoobies call down and let Angel's crew know if there'd been any Peaches sightings. But to talk to _Spike_ , specifically. _About_ Angel, but also the situation in Sunnydale and let's not forget the request to hum. Or sing something. Which Spike had hung up the phone rather than do.

"Yeah, well, I am—" Spike shut up, and quick. He wasn't going to admit that _ever_ , let alone to Xander. Who had been suspiciously nice to him for a while now. "Er, he thought I'd have the most insight. Bein' another vampire and all."

"Uh huh." Xander clearly didn't believe that for a nanosecond, but at least he dropped it. "Well, that was creepy number one. Creepy number two is you knowing the word ‘anagogic'. And that that was the word I'd meant, which is so creepy I think I'm gonna skip thinking about that entirely."

"A good plan."

"Which brings me back to the still creepy even after a few weeks."

Xander's eyes were still twinkling, like bloody Dumbledore and his insipid kindly old gent act. Spike tried to smile back, but it was hard. Creepy from Xander could mean everything from discussing human bodily functions expressly to see who could gross the other out first to the kind of conversation Spike realized they'd been building up to for ... for a while now.

The discomfort he'd felt solidified in his gut, a lump of coal that tickled the back of his throat with acrid dust. He'd known that Dawn changed everything. She'd changed _him_ in a way nothing, not even transitioning from William to Spike, really ever had. It had changed his relationship with the remaining Scoobies as well and, now that he was willing to think about it, this conversation had been priming for over a week. Longer. Since Dawn had first bled, leaving him and Xander to take care of her.

Spike dropped his gaze to Dawn, taking comfort in studying her. The way her hair spread over his arms and chest, clumped into twisted locks he knew she purposefully created just so they could share the pleasure of brushing her hair smooth and knot-free. The way her face relaxed into peace only he ever saw, no lines marring smooth, creamy skin. She had a zit or two forming, that he wasn't going to tell her. He planned to let her struggle with them for a bit—a rite of passage every teenager had to face—before letting her in on a family secret to get rid of them. The way her mouth parted slightly, leaving him a glimpse of pink tongue and the barest ridge of teeth.

"That. That's what's so creepy."

The softness of Xander's voice made him look up, startled. This was the most... _most_ he'd been with Dawn in front of company before. He hadn't even thought about it, just settling onto the nest while Dawn curled up against him and chattered about the summer classes she hated taking and other inane comments Spike lived to hear from her. Habit had taken over and Spike had stroked and soothed automatically, unaware of eyes that watched every intimate touch. Or, not unaware. Just not cognizant of, not when Dawn was there and giggling and he was happy.

"Look. Already had this conversation with Red and the Fuhrer, didn't I?" he said, voice hard as he tried to forestall the comments. "I'm not gonna hurt her. I'm not gonna lead her down the garden path, nor am I gonna let her _take_ me there, got it? It's nothing. It's just the way—"

"The way you two are. Yeah, I know."

Spike blinked. He rolled, carefully repositioning Dawn as he faced Xander, his own fist resting against the side of his head while he tried to make that statement make sense. Nope, no sense. "Huh?" he asked, instantly hating the tweeny-speak that had infiltrated his vocabulary.

Xander cracked a full on grin, shaking his head at whatever expression Spike was sporting. "Damn, are you really that worried I'll try and get between you and Dawn? Cause if you pay attention, I'm _not_ between the two of you."

Snorting, Spike tried to ignore the obvious double-layer to Xander's words. "That's cause she put herself in the middle. She always does."

"Yup, she does," Xander agreed easily. "So I started wondering why."

"Cause she likes being protected, you nit. Makes her feel safe, squashed between two bodies." It made her feel loved, too, like if there was no way she could be forgotten or ignored.

Xander rolled his eyes, body following the motion as he resettled on his stomach, arms tucked Sphinx-like under his chest. "Will you relax? Jeez, paranoid much. I'm not gonna restart the Keep Spike From Dawn Crusade, I thought it was a stupid idea in the first place." Which was an outright _lie_ , but Spike kept his mouth shut. "I just meant... it's creepy. I think it'll always be creepy. But I get it, now."

Xander was looking at Dawn when he said that, which helped Spike from flying off the handle. Instead he studied Xander's expression—how serious it was. How loving, a possessive kind of loving that Spike understood intimately. And something else, something Spike refused to contemplate, not since Tara had given him a nickname he'd damned near hit her for.

Well, he wouldn't have _actually_ hit her. Or even wanted to. But the thought was satisfying.

"What," Spike said when he was sure of his control, "do you get?"

"That she doesn't think it's sexy. The touching thing you two do. It's just touching. Reassuring. I'd call it brotherly."

 _He'd_ call it? Ignoring the sense of reprieve—a sense of relief and happiness that he had two people to back him if it came to another row—Spike furrowed his brow and tried to understand why Xander looked like he was making a joke. And _why_ did that wording strike him as being leading?

"It is," Spike brazened. "Brotherly. Don't think of her that way, wouldn't let myself near her if I did."

Xander laughed again, but didn't call Spike on the obvious fudging of the truth. "I know. That's what's so creepy. You aren't _supposed_ to be all cuddly and cute with Dawn. It goes against all the Watcher Handbook material I've ever read."

"What, you actually read something that didn't come with pictures?"

"Watch it, Spike, or I'll recite what a certain Alfred Dunlath wrote about you right around the time you were turned."

"What, Alfie? That tosser didn't know anything. Was always jealous of my—" Oh, fucking _hell_. Spike dropped his head against Dawn's, his nose touching her ear. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. A random reader wasn't going to put two and two together, but anyone who'd known him as long as Xander had and had seen him with Dawn, helping her with her bloody homework—they'd figure it out. Too bad Xander wasn't as stupid as he acted like.

"You right bastard," he said.

Xander laughed again, the sound clear and layer-free. It was a nice sound. "Yup, right bastard. That's me. And hey, that's actually a good thing. The bastardness, I mean. We couldn't _both_ be pushovers."

Both? And oi, he wasn't a pushover! He was a _sap_ , was what he was, and far too willing to give in to whatever Dawn asked of him and bloody, bleeding, pogo-sticking _Christ._

Spike's head popped up, eyes wide as he finally got it. In his defense, it wasn't like he'd been expecting it. Xander wasn't one for formal declarations, for one, and for the other, Tara'd promised him that she wouldn't _tell_ anyone!

"That _minx_ ," he breathed.

Xander grinned back, a hint of shock in dark brown depths reassuring Spike that he wasn't any more comfortable with this than Spike was. But that he wanted to be. And he was ... willing to let them try. Together.

"Oh, yeah. She's a sneaky one, our Tara. I damned near swallowed my tongue when she first told me."

"First? Meaning she's told you this _multiple_ times? That's it. Oh, is that it. She's gonna get it, the bloody traitor."

Xander's response was cut off—and an unfortunate thing, that, given how wicked he'd looked when his mouth opened to answer—by Dawn sighing and shifting onto her back. "Are you two done dancing around each other?" she asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Dawn, we aren't dancing. You have to be standing to dance," Xander said.

"Well, verbal fencing. Whatever. You're both all nervous even if you aren't admitting it to each other and it's making it hard to sleep. Oh yeah, the _talking_ doesn't help, either."

Spike met Xander's eyes, unsurprised to see the same accusing _see what you've done, letting her pick up sarcasm_ look glared back at him. It made them both laugh, Spike suddenly aware that the knot in his belly had vanished to nothing.

"Didn't wake you, did we sweetheart?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her ear.

"No. And ew. Stop kissing me in icky places," she grinned, rubbing the now-damp spot. "I was just dozing, anyway."

"Uh huh. Near to snoring and you were _just dozing?_ "

"Hey! I do not snore!" She glanced up at Xander, eyes dancing with laughter. "We _both_ don't snore."

"Hey!"

Spike chuckled, skimming his hand over her belly, knuckles brushing against Xander's side. He studied the feel of them together, remembering more than one occasion when the same thing had happened. All three of them, tangled up together in a way that only someone who _craved_ physical contact—as Spike knew Xander did—could really understand.

"You wanna go to the Bronze later?" he asked suddenly. "Think I'll want a pint, later."

Dawn sat up hopefully, then pouted when Xander _looked_ at her. "You meant Xander, didn't you?"

"Yes, I meant Xander. Well?"

"Sure." Xander sat up with a shrug, then stretched as he climbed to his feet. "After she's asleep?"

"You want to leave beforehand?" Spike tossed back. He was grinning, though, accepting the hand Xander held out to him. "'Course after. I think Tracey's on tonight, too. She's always good for a few free shots."

"Is she the one with blue-streaks in her hair? And the," Xander glanced at Dawn, then back to Spike, obviously uncomfortable saying ‘big tits' in front of her.

Dawn huffed, blowing hair out of her face and glaring at both of them. "I'm right _here_ , you know. God, only one day as my Dads and already you're doing the pretending I can't hear you thing. Are you gonna start spelling out your words, too? Cause that's gonna get really old, and I'll tell Tara on both of you, see if I don't!"

Spike contemplated her for a moment, listening to the spike of Xander's heartbeat slowly calm. She'd slipped and called him that a few times already, although usually in the privacy of his crypt. And it'd never been plural before. This was obviously the first time she'd referred to Xander that way and he was curious to see how Xander would handle it. Extending tentative friendship Spike's way was one thing. Letting others see it and hear it from a girl who didn't always hear what she said was another.

Xander put his hands on his hips. "There will be _no_ My Two Dads comments," he ordered sternly, frown deep enough that Dawn almost gulped. Almost. "We are not Laurel and Hardy or Felix and Oscar and god help me, if you say Starsky and Hutch there will be _retribution._ "

Dawn blinked up at him, biting her lower lip to stop herself from giggling. It took her a moment of struggle to finally swallow back the laughter and give him an innocent, dewy look. "Okay. Dad."

Spike attacked the same time Xander did, grinning at each other as Dawn twisted and shrieked and tried to evade the tickling hands of two people who knew every sensitive spot she had.


End file.
